


Just Tell Me You Love Me

by assassin_inthe_scoutregiment



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Rogue, F/M, Reader Insert, Self Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 10:36:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14518629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassin_inthe_scoutregiment/pseuds/assassin_inthe_scoutregiment
Summary: You and Shay are on a mission when things go South. His dying wish is to hear you say you love him, only he isn't dying.





	Just Tell Me You Love Me

Shay. Patrick. Cormac. 

Where to begin with the man who was your constant companion? The lilt of his voice ever calling across the Morrigan could pull you from your foggiest days. His tendency to rush into dangerous situations, while annoying at the best of times and downright suicidal at the worst, never failed to garner your admiration. Shay was a ray of sunshine on the darkest days, never failing to give you reason to smile.

Tonight, the two of you were sharing a room above a small pub in Boston. Shay spoke with Grandmaster Kenway over a pint while you finished writing the report of your recent mission. Another assassin, eliminated by Shay's hand, assisted by yours. It had been a simple mission of the bait and kill variety. You took a sip of tea, then returned to finishing your work on the piece of parchment before you.

Kill confirmed by both myself and Master Cormac, two stab wounds through the neck, severing the arteries. We shall set sail for Ireland tomorrow in pursuit of the prior target's master. 

Short, sweet, and to the point; exactly how Haytham preferred the reports read and how you tended to write them. Shay would go into detail, listing each variable encountered, the exact method of dispatching the assassin at hand, then where and how their body was disposed of. While Shay's method was helpful from time to time, your method was the most effective for secretarial purposes. 

With the report finished, you sealed it in an envelope with a wax seal bearing the Templar cross, pocketed the parchment, smoothed the wrinkles in your dress, and decided to join the two men for a drink before sleeping for the night. 

Haytham wore a smile as you entered the room. Time had been friendly to the aging Templar, yet you still noticed differences in the man from your last encounter with your Grandmaster. His dark locks showed strands of grey while tied tightly with a satin ribbon, leading you to believe his hair was greyer still when undone. Wrinkles lined his eyes, marking years of both laughter and stress. Haytham greeted you with a kiss upon your hand and an offer of bourbon. Declining his drink of choice you waved the bartender over to request a pint of beer for yourself. The bartender, though surprised by your drink, sat a mug next to Shay and Haytham's as you slipped the sealed envelope to Haytham.

"We should buy a round for Haytham, lass." Shay suggested while you allowed the first taste of drink to slide down your throat.

"Why's that?" You replied before glancing at the grimace on the Grandmaster's face.

"Turns out, he has a kid, and Achilles' been training him." Shay's answer certainly caught you off gaurd. You turned to face the man on your left. Haytham simply nodded his head in defeat.

"Jesus, Kenway. Is he coming after you?" Another nod answered your question. "Then Shay and myself should be staying in Boston serving as your guard instead of sailing to Ireland, or hunting him instead of our new target."

Certainly Shay had already brought this up. There had been rumors of Achilles training a new assassin, no definitive evidence had been shown as to who the novice was, or what their intentions were.

"I do believe I may be his ultimate target. He's already been murdering my best men, each one a step closer to myself and Charles. Which is precisely why you two are still traveling to Ireland tomorrow. He may come for me, but he will not destroy everything I have worked for, everything we have built together."

"Surely you aren't serious, Haytham." You glanced at him, then to the Irishman on your right. Shay gave a knowing nod.

"I've asked Shay to take my place when Connor comes for me. Should Shay be unable to lead the Templar Order, I'd like for you to lead in his stead. Which is why the Morrigan is being loaded with enough supplies to travel to Ireland. You and Shay will stay there until you've recieved word of either of our deaths. With his, I will send your next mission. With mine, you will return to Boston, and begin rebuilding."

You sipped your beer, taking in his words.

"It sounds like you've thought this through." Haytham and Shay both nodded. "In that case, I will be retiring for the night. We will depart at first light. Goodnight Shay; Haytham." Both men watched as you returned to your room.

"I see you've still not confessed your emotions towards her." Haytham teased Shay the moment you left earshot.

"Aye, and I won't until I have to. She has no interest in a romantic relationship with me, and saying a word to her would only cause tension during our missions." Haytham snorted.

"Maybe you will get lucky, and she comes to you first." Shay downed the last of his beer before standing.

"I make my own luck, Haytham." He countered before finding his way to the room the pair of you were sharing for the night. 

\-----

The Morrigan rocked comfortably atop the waves crashing against the docks. Shay slept peacefully for the first night in weeks while you watched his chest rise and fall from the bed opposite his in the captain's cabin. The occasional scuff of boots from the crew above interrupted your train of thought, forcing you to find something to focus on until returning to your thoughts. 

Shay's breathing gave the perfect sight to focus on. The sound of his occasional snore, his hair falling across his forehead each time he moved, and the steady rhythm of his chest paired with the crash of waves and scuff of boots created a quiet symphony to lose your head in.

Haytham was dead. You had received word earlier in the day that your Grandmaster had been slain by none other than his own son. You wanted nothing more than to return to the colonies and hunt this assassin down, to slay him in his tracks. Shay and yourself were the last of the Colonial Rite, though Haytham's dying orders were to continue your pursuit in Ireland, and only return once the Precursor Box had been secured. Haytham, who had wanted nothing more than for the Templar Order to thrive. 

How Shay was sleeping so peacefully despite his friend passing, you couldn't even begin to understand. The Colonial Rite was gone. Everything you had fought to build, every principle you stood for, gone. The order, which had shaped your entire life, had built you into the person you'd become, had been buried beneath Boston. Your entire life's purpose crumbled, but, you supposed, you must go on. You must continue. 

Shay had survived Lisbon, abandoning Achilles, and hunting down all who had once been his brethren. He lived through a course of events which changed the course of history, and was still here to speak of the circumstances. Maybe that was why he slept without concern. Shay had endured struggles unknown to all else. Perhaps the death of a close friend was to be expected at this point in his life. 

Shay was something else entirely. His smile greeted you each time you stepped upon the Morrigan. His greeting of 'lass' rolling easily from his tongue could make your knees weak on your strongest days. You'd long loved Shay, though had little to show for it. He was your partner, nothing more. There had been plenty of tension infused moments where you'd wanted to act upon your emotions. Emotions made for nasty consequences on the mission field. Emotions entangled directions. Chancing either your or Shay's lives was too big a risk.

"What are you staring at, lass?" Shay's voice broke your concentration. With a shake of the head, you waved off his question.

"Nothing, Shay. Just lost in thought." You didn't need to go into detail. 

"Haytham knew what was coming. We can't spend much time mourning him, but we can continue his work. C'mere, lass." Shay leaned up and patted the empty spot beside him. He shoved aside the blankets previously covering his form, revealing skin scarred from years of work. You removed your own blankets and joined Shay. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, securing a blanket over your body which had been quickly chilled by the Irish wind breezing through the opened window. 

"We could have saved him." Your voice was barely a whisper. Shay wiped away tears you hadn't noticed falling.

"I don't believe we could have. He was prepared to lay in the bed he'd made." Shay's words did little to ease your pain, but gave you a moment to sit in silence, noticing the lack of noise coming from the deck above. "Get your weapons."

Both of you jumped from Shay's bed, reaching for your weapons laying on the desk the two of you shared. 

"They must be in the cabin." A muffled voice followed by the soft footfalls of assassins moving across the deck above. You quickly holstered your pistols, fastened your sword sheath at your belt, and attached your throwing knife belt across your body. 

"Cormac is our target, not her. They're likely sleeping. Take him out, leave her alone." They were outside the doors now. Shay motioned towards your bed. Taking the hint, you laid down, pulled the blankets over your eyes, and listened to Shay do the same. The door creaked open, revealing two men clad in the tell-tale robes of assassins. "Check that bed. I've got this one." The same voice from before directed the second assassin. You gripped your blades tightly, waiting. The moment either Shay made a move, or the assassin turned their back on you, somebody would find a silver knife wedged between their shoulder blades. 

Feigning sleep, you closed your eyes. The blankets lifted, being pulled down by an assassin.

"Other one." They spoke, lowering the blankets over your eyes again. Boots turned on the wooden floors away from you. The knife was nearly slicing into your own hand. You briefly opened your eyes, viewing what little you could of each assassin in the dark. One was tall, nearly as tall as Shay, with a slight frame. Speed would be his asset. The other stood shorter with more bulk to their body. They both made their way towards Shay.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." You jumped up quickly, discarding the blankets and pulling their attention to you. You easily tossed the knife from one hand to another. Both assassins faced you, hidden blades drawn. Shay quietly moved behind them as they took a step closer to you. "I really wouldn't do that if I were you." You continued, still tossing the knife from hand to hand. Shay stood behind them, blades drawn, and prepared to embed blades in both their necks. 

"Why's that, Templar?" The taller one questioned. Shay nodded his head in your direction. Taking the cue, you landed the blade you'd been toying with between the assassin's eyes.

"That's why, assassin." Shay replied. The shorter assassin spun around. Shay ran a sword through the mans chest as you loosed another knife, this one into his skull. 

"Shay!" He collapsed atop the bleeding assassin, holding a hand over a wound on his chest. Blood spilled out, coating his fingers in red. "I can stitch this. Hold on, Shay." 

Moments later you pressured a cloth against the angry wound. The second assassin, as it turned out, carried throwing blades as well. The cut wasn't deep, but it ran long across Shay's chest, causing him to lose more blood than you believed possible. He lay on his bed, hand over yours holding pressure while you pulled needle and thread across his skin. His skin paled in the candlelight, whether it was a trick of the light or due to loss of blood, you did not know. 

"Lass, I want to tell you something." He spoke through a midst of groans caused by each new stitch. 

"What's that, Shay?" You inquired, threading the needle for another stitch deep within his skin.

"I-I love you, lass. The night before we left, Haytham wanted me to tell you. I didn't. I've lost a lot of blood tonight, and, this may be it for me." You froze, staring deep into his dark eyes. 

"Don't talk like that, Shay. It's just a bad cut. You'll make it just fine. You've survived worse." You began another stitch. It wasn't often he lost this much blood from his worse encounters, though.

"Lass, just tell me you love me too, and I'll die a happy man." Despite everything in you shouting to answer you hesitated. Without a doubt, you loved the Irishman, and had for quite some time, but were finding it difficult to tell him. Never had you imagined him finding out this way, not that you'd ever truly intended on him finding out.

"Shay, don't do this to me. Don't make me tell you like this. I do love you. I have since the day we met. Shay Patrick Cormac, do not make this be the only time I get to tell you I love you too." With a smile on his face, Shay's eyes closed. His heart still beat, his breath still took, but the loss of blood had taken its toll. "Hold on a little longer, Shay." You whispered over his unconscious body. "Hold on."

\-----

Five Years Later 

The waves did as much to rock the sleeping child in your arms as you did. His dark hair fell over his eyes, making him the very image of his father. Content in his ability to stay asleep if you sat him down, you tucked your son in his crib, and joined his father at the Morrigan's wheel. 

"Did he finally go down, lass?" Shay handed off the wheel to Gist, greeting you with a kiss. You looked out over the open ocean, breathing in the salty, Atlantic air. 

"He went out like a candle once he was wrapped tight in that old blanket of yours. Haytham seems to love the smell of the sea, and the rocking of the waves." A smile crept across your lips. 

"Oh, I know that smile. That smile is how we wound up with Haytham two years ago. What are you thinking of?" Shay now stood behind you, his arms holding you close to him. Shay's breath was warm on your neck as he placed a kiss behind your ear, nipping the tender skin lightly. 

"You know exactly what I'm thinking of, Mr. Cormac." Your head turned to him, catching his jaw in a soft kiss. 

"Well then, Mrs. Cormac, the sea is steady, we are fast approaching Liverpool, and Gist needs something to do lest I listen to another of his wild tales. What say you we start working on what your thinking of?" Shay's voice was laced with mischief, but you knew his intentions were pure. 

"I say aye, Captain."


End file.
